


i took a picture of that smile (and stuck it in my heart)

by zephryus



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (dw george is just as bad), Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, dude... dream is so fucking whipped its not even a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephryus/pseuds/zephryus
Summary: “I feel like,” George starts, staring up through the leaves of the tree, squinting at the rays of sun just about making it through, “you coming here in the middle of summer is cheating.”Dream looks down at George, relaxed and entirely himself, half-drunk on love and affection, and the only thought that runs through his mind isI love you.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 334





	i took a picture of that smile (and stuck it in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoy!

“I feel like,” George starts, staring up through the leaves of the tree, squinting at the rays of sun just about making it through, “you coming here in the middle of summer is cheating.” 

He's lying sideways with his head in Dream’s lap as he sits up against a tree, with their hands intertwined clumsily as a result of their positions. Neither make much effort to change, though, despite the fact that one of Dream’s rings is digging into George’s finger, he can’t bring himself to let go.

Dream wheezes out a laugh that almost dislodges George from his lap. He pushes a hand through his hair in apology when George looks up, mock offended – running his hand through the dark strands, gently scratching his scalp is all it takes to mollify him. Dream would tease him, call him easy if it weren’t incredibly, laughably clear that he has it just as bad.

“Sorry, baby,” Dream says as George resituates himself, “but what the fuck do you mean?” He gets mildly sidetracked by the way a soft, pink blush spills over George’s cheeks at the petname. The little Sapnap that situated itself in the back of his head when he was about 17 makes a whipping sound.

George gives him a look that, as he’s learnt to interpret, means that Dream should know exactly what he’s on about – it has a solid 54% chance of working on a good day, to be fair to him. George lifts his other hand up to the one that was holding Dream’s to play with his fingers and twist his rings around, and, despite the warm day, his hands are a welcome cool against Dream’s.

“I mean…” George trails off from his strong start to fiddle with one of the rings, the plain black titanium one. He turns it around Dream’s middle finger, bends and folds the other fingers of his hand to his liking – Dream, relaxed and pliable lets him without restraint.

He reaches up with his thumb to stroke the hinge of his jaw, his nail catching against the very start of stubble, when it could still be mistaken for ‘clean-shaven, but with a crappy razor’, he prompts George when it’s clear he’s completely forgotten the rest of his sentence, “You mean?”.

“I mean! This is barely England, it’s… y’know, sunny ‘n shit,” he makes attempts to wave his hands around, to signal what he meant by ‘sunny ‘n shit’, but caught up in Dream’s hand, and possibly tangled under his arm, all he accomplishes is lifting his arm slightly. Undeterred in his explanation, George instead presses kisses to the palm of Dream’s hand and the inside of his wrist.

“I think,” George continues without Dream prompting, “to get the true experience, you gotta come in the winter too.”

“I didn't come for the experience, baby, I came for you,” the petname falls from his mouth and finds its way into the sentence far easier than it should have, Dream wouldn’t even particularly notice it if it wasn’t for the way George blushes again and fidgets with his fingers, drawing small patterns over his skin.

“You’re cute,” George says, apparently apropos of nothing, because he’s incapable of being on the receiving end of flirting graciously. And also, he suspects, because George knows that he can make Dream blush, because he knows that his ears will start to burn and a dark flush will spread down his neck. 

He remembers the first night, after the day they met, when George made him blush like that, and then traced it gently with soft kisses, keeping a hand at the back of his head, stroking against the short hairs, so tender Dream was convinced he’d fall apart.

“Shut up,” Dream mutters around a grin, because George is also grinning, looking up at him like he gave him a star with his bare hands. And to be entirely honest, Dream would, if George asked. (He sorely ignores the little Sapnap in the back of his mind.)

George giggles, arching his back and shuffling a little on the ground, bending his legs around, “No,” he says, around a small smile that challenges Dream. And Dream knows he’s smart - he’s pretty sure his mother still has his report cards from school _he’s smarter than his peers and clearly ahead of his years, but he needs to apply himself_ , hell you could take a look at his channel and his videos and his career and see that he’s smart. But looking at George, seeing him smile with the look in his eye that Dream can’t even begin to explain, but maybe just about interpret, looking down at the guy he loves, he can’t bring himself to think a single coherent thought beyond _I love you_ , on repeat over and over in his mind until he’s consumed by it, utterly and entirely overwhelmed.

It’s too early to say _I love you_ in person, Dream thinks, mildly irrationally, because they’ve said _I love you_ on FaceTime, so, in theory, in person shouldn’t be difficult - hell he's the one who said it first, but he chokes, the words get stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat and refuse to come out.

“You’re such an idiot,” Dream says, instead, and his voice is so fucking soft it may as well have been a love confession - and by the way George’s expression softens, he’s taken it as one.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “but I’m your idiot.” He’s still grinning, self-satisfied and half-drunk off half-love confessions. Dream just rolls his eyes, he doesn't bother to cover up his expression, no doubt ridden with love and affection and every emotion running sharp and bright and dull and lethargic through his veins.

“Yeah,” Dream says softly, curling down to press a kiss against George’s forehead, because he thinks it's been about two minutes since the last kiss, and that is far too long, “you are.”

They’re quiet for a beat, looking at each other, just because they can.

George, inevitably, breaks it, tugging a little on Dream’s hand, more than just fiddling. Dream hums, inquiring.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“What?” Dream replies, the warmth in his voice spreads over them and encompasses their little bubble. As far as he’s concerned, the entire world is just George and him.

George looks at him for a second, and for a moment, they’re infinite, eternal and never-ending. Dream loves him so fucking much he’s going to implode until all that’s left is a mess of soft, tender feelings he’s barely managed to untangle.

“There’s a leaf in your hair.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
